Francie

by Emily Hahn

  “Strike out for yourself?” asked Francie, awed.

  “That is, go to London on my own and get a job,” explained Penny.

  “You mean absolutely on your own? Without any money?”

  “Yes, why not? It’s not hard to get jobs in London nowadays, that’s one thing. I could be a salesgirl, I suppose, or a waitress in a teashop. But that wouldn’t be getting me any nearer to the stage,” said Penelope, “and it would be cruel as well, because Mummy would have to explain it away. It would cause any amount of talk in our village. It’s forcing poor Mummy to take sides, and—oh, I do hope we won’t have any unpleasantness! These things are so difficult.”

  “Your stepfather sounds awful,” said Francie.

  “No, he’s all right. It’s just his point of view. He’s a strict disciplinarian.”

  Francie sniffed indignantly. “Strict, my eye! If it were me, I’d tell him where to get off.”

  “But Mummy—”

  “Yes, I can see it wouldn’t be as easy as all that,” said Francie. “Oh dear. Well, let’s try to put all of it aside for the moment and just enjoy ourselves. Aunt Lolly’s got all sorts of plans and parties in her head, and maybe by the time we go back to Fair-fields I’ll have had an inspiration, or you will, or somebody.”

  “We’ve spent a lot of time on my moans. Now tell me about yours,” said Penny. “I shrieked over your letter about Jennifer and the glamorous young man. What happened after that?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Nothing at all to tell the truth. We were rather quiet until it was time to come back to London, naturally. Poor Pop, it must have been a strain for him.”

  “Mind you, Francie, you were naughty.”

  “I expect I was,” said Francie, sighing. “Everything I did seemed to be wrong, and after a while I didn’t care. But never mind all that—it’s childish compared with your troubles. Have you been thinking about the term play?”

  Until tea they chattered with animation about this, their mutual interest. It had been decided by the faculty to play safe and put on A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the end of the term.

  “We always do,” as Miss Maitland said, “and it’s by far the most satisfactory arrangement. It’s always the best school play. There are parts for the little ones, and there is plenty of scope for the older ones as well.”

  Penelope was to be the director and producer, and Francie’s art class was to contribute all its talent to evolving the stage sets and scenery. Thus the friends had plenty to talk about; they were surprised when they heard the tea bell.

  Aunt Lolly had already made friends with her neighbors, and Francie soon discovered that The Warren, like all of Mrs. Barclay’s places of residence, was open every evening to guests. There was a constant stream of people: Colonel and Mrs. Gresham from over the road; Mrs. Claye, the pretty widow who had the cottage just outside the village; Jock Bennett, a young friend Aunt Lolly invited in for the girls. There was in fact quite a scattering of girls and youths of their own age, home from school, like Francie, for the holidays. The ease, the familiar talk and interests, the knowledge that she was understood here and liked, felt as soothing to the American girl as a warm bath after exposure to cold rain.

  “I wouldn’t have guessed life in England could be so gay,” said Francie as they changed for dinner. “It was so good to hear all the latest records from home! The Barclays are awfully lucky to have found a place with so many nice people living close by, aren’t they?”

  “Oh, I suppose you’d find just as nice people anywhere,” said Penny sagely, “but they’re slow usually in coming out of their shells. Your Aunt Lolly does something to people, I can see. She makes them nicer.”

  “They’re playing bridge tonight, which is rather a nuisance,” continued Francie, “though Pop will be glad, because he loves bridge.”

  “Why should it be a nuisance? You’re not expected to play, are you?”

  “N-no, of course not, unless I’m needed, and I never am. Aunt Lolly says I’ll never make a good player. Only I was hoping we might have a bit of fun on our own.”

  “We can,” Penny said. “They’re playing in the library, and we younger ones can sing or play records or do what we like in the drawing room, I suppose. Why not?”

  Francie was rather surprised by the question, but the more she thought of it the less she could reply. Why not, indeed? “I guess I take it for granted the older people ought to go out when I have a party,” she confessed. “They always did in Jefferson.”

  “Never mind, Francie, you’re in a good international house now, and you’ll see how the other half lives!” Penny laughed as light-heartedly as if she hadn’t an ambition or a stepfather in the world.

  As Penny had predicted, the evening was a success and the generations managed to divide the house without difficulty. They went further; after the bridge-players tired of cards and when it was time for a nightcap they all gathered together in the drawing room and played games. If Aunt Lolly herself hadn’t suggested it, Francie might have been scornful of the idea, but once they were embarked on “Twenty Questions” she admitted that it was fun.

  One of the surprising things about the evening was Pop’s behavior. From her limited experience of going to parties with her father, Francie had assumed that anything in company but bridge bored him. Tonight, however, he relinquished his game willingly when the time came, and joined the party very amiably. He chatted with Uncle Martin and Colonel Gresham, joked with the young people, and now and then watched Francie with an expression of approving relief. He too was enjoying himself, she realized. How pleasant and attractive he could be when he wasn’t distracted by business! She was proud of him, glad that Penny could see him in this light, and glad, too, that he seemed easy in his mind about herself.

  Pop went back to London on Tuesday morning. When he bade her good-bye he said, “Now be a good girl and take a real rest. I had a word with your Aunt Lolly about Penny’s little difficulty. I don’t know if Penny would like the idea of our hashing her troubles over, but in a pinch Laura Barclay’s a sensible woman. It might help if Penny would talk to her.”

  “Thanks, Pop, I’ll suggest it, anyway,” said Francie gratefully.

  Penelope didn’t take the suggestion amiss, and that afternoon when the girls were at tea alone with Aunt Lolly they discussed the problem thoroughly.

  “He does sound a difficult man,” admitted Aunt Lolly, “but these things sometimes come out all right if one is patient. If I were you, Penny, I’d stop struggling just now. You’re safe until the end of the next term, aren’t you? Then if your Uncle Jim is still stubborn about the secretarial school—”

  “Oh, he will be!” said Penny with a sigh.

  “I’d leave it for the moment,” said Aunt Lolly decisively, “and trust your mother to bring him round. When the time comes, if you must revolt, then you can gather your forces. But you ought to concentrate on schoolwork now.”

  Penny stared down at her plate, and Francie looked at her with sympathetic comprehension. She knew it wouldn’t be easy for her friend, getting through the last few days of the vacation, living with her stepfather, without an explosion, but of course, what Aunt Lolly said was reasonable; it was no use stirring up the fight until the time came for it.

  “Anyway, Mrs. Barclay,” Penelope said, glancing up, “you do think I’m not entirely wrong? If a person knows and feels that she’s cut out for one special kind of work—”

  “Oh yes, I do agree,” said Aunt Lolly firmly. “I think a young woman has a right to her own choice of work. I don’t agree at all with your stepfather, as you describe him. But I don’t know him, do I? I’ve no right to condemn his attitude until I’ve met him.”

  “No, of course not,” said Penny.

  “Then you must meet him,” said Francie tempestuously. “We’ll all meet him. On breaking-up day, so it won’t look too planned, we can lure him into our group and turn Aunt Lolly loose. She’ll set him to rights in no time. Oh dear, Aunt Lolly, I do wish we co
uld get to work on him before then. Are you absolutely sure you’ve got to go away next month?”

  Laura Barclay laughed and said, “I’m no miracle-worker, Francie, though I’m touched and flattered by your trust. Yes, my dear, I’m afraid I do have to go. I promised a friend in Ireland I’d come over later in May, and that I’d stay at least six weeks.”

  “We’ll have to postpone the reform of Uncle Jim, then,” said Penny, “until you come back. I must say I agree with Francie, Mrs. Barclay; if anybody can bring him around you can. You have such a way with people!”

  “It’s a pity about Ireland,” Francie went on, still lost in her thoughts. “This way, you’ll probably miss seeing Glenn as well.”

  “And is Glenn so especially important?” asked Aunt Lolly. “Can’t he wait?”

  “Oh, he’s not important in himself, I guess, but he’s from home,” said Francie. “I am awfully fond of him, and I’m crazy to see him and find out about everything in Jefferson. It will be heaven, really.…”

  Aunt Lolly looked at her keenly. “Do you really hate Fairfields so much, then?”

  Francie thought it over, while the others waited. “No,” she said at last. “No, I don’t. I have been dreading it a little, I admit, since we came here to The Warren. I’ve been wondering how I can bear to go back after this little bit of what I’m more used to. Actually it makes it easier, now there’s been this break. It’s wonderful your being here, Aunt Lolly, but if I must tell the truth, Fairfields isn’t so bad.”

  She knew she sounded confused, but Aunt Lolly seemed satisfied. They talked about Glenn’s plans, and decided regretfully that there was no chance of bringing him to The Warren, as his visit would probably be over before Mrs. Barclay returned from Ireland. Then Uncle Martin came in and asked for coffee, and the talk turned to the general situation in England.

  “I think they’re on the upgrade,” said Uncle Martin flatly. “I get sore at these people in my department who come here for a quick look around and then go home and talk to the papers about ruin and muddle.”

  “But do they really?” asked Francie.

  “Oh yes. You don’t see the papers at home, I suppose, except once in a while, but I can tell you it makes me pretty hot. They say the English won’t work, the English are being lured to Communism, the English this, the English that—They’ve no idea of how sober and steady the English are. I’ve had some experience myself with rationing, for example, here and on the Continent and at home. Let me tell you, it works here. Yes sir, it works. These people still have principles. They know what’s right and wrong. Do you realize what that means in the world today?”

  “We do realize, Martin,” Aunt Lolly said.

  “I get carried away,” said Uncle Martin, laughing. “You’d think I was making a speech in the Senate.” He poured himself a cup of coffee.

  Francie turned to the forgotten Penelope to say something. She paused and remained silent. Penny was looking at Uncle Martin, her face flushed and her eyes bright.

  “Oh, I’m awfully glad he made that speech,” said Francie to herself.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Back at Fairfields, May 15.

  “Dear Ruth:

  “I hate to think how long it’s been since I had time to send you more than scrappy little notes, but as you must have guessed, my Easter vacation turned out to be busier than I expected. I hope you got our postcard from The Warren. We were feeling silly so we all signed it, Aunt Lolly and Uncle Martin as well as Penny. Oh dear, it was such fun, and how I did hate to come back here.

  “Still, it could be a good deal worse. Honesty compels me to admit that Fairfields in May is a very different place from Fairfields in February. There hasn’t been any rain since term began, touch wood, and that makes a welcome change to begin with. Whenever they decide it isn’t absolutely freezing we hold class out of doors. We’re in summer uniforms, too. (I still put on my long underwear under the cotton dress, but as I suspect that’s cheating, I keep quiet about it.)

  “I oughtn’t to go on crabbing, because I do like school better now. Besides, I had a good long time to wear regular human clothes while I was in London and with Aunt Lolly. As a last beautiful gesture before I came back, Pop took me sightseeing up to Oxford, ostensibly to improve my soul and add to my culture, but actually I think because Mark and Peter wrote us a cute little formal invitation. It was a lot of fun. Not just what we might call fun if we were students at State, mind you; I can’t imagine sightseeing in the same way with American boys. Mark must have gotten an exaggerated idea of my tastes because he found out I hang around art galleries a little in London. Anyway those boys walked us miles and miles through dozens of colleges and quads. I’ve seen enough old buildings and chapels to give me a passing grade in European History when I come home, without the trouble of studying at all. I learned to say University instead of College when I mean University, too. We wound up an improving tour with tea in Mark’s rooms in College, properly chaperoned by Pop and a professor’s wife. A lot of cute boys came in and made a fuss about—what? do you want to guess? Well, it wasn’t me. Nobody paid much attention to me. It was the chocolate eclairs that Mark had ordered specially. They were the life of the party. The fact is, most boys here don’t seem to like women at all. They treat them badly.

  “On the whole, Ruth, I think you and I will have a better time at State. But Mark’s attractive in his way, I must admit, and he isn’t quite indifferent to the nearly Beauty Queen of Jefferson High.

  “Have you seen Glenn lately? He still says he’s coming over with his car, and it can’t be long now. Oh, boy.

  “Yours, still going strong,

  Francie.”

  Penelope came back to school in a downcast frame of mind. In spite of Aunt Lolly’s advice there had been more quarrels with Uncle Jim. “I did try,” she said in woebegone tones, “but he started it himself, all about this being my last term. It makes me feel like a condemned criminal. I suppose I talked too much about the play—the Dream. It’s been on my mind, naturally, and I spoke about it sometimes to Mummy and that must have irritated him.”

  “We can talk about it here as often as we like,” said Francie comfortingly. She herself was becoming excited about the production, and with very good reason, for the girls in the art class, with one voice, had selected her as chief scene painter and designer. The responsibility of such a task thrilled and half-frightened her. She found herself chattering about it even to Miss Maitland herself, the first day she sat next to the awesome headmistress in Hall.

  “To think I’ve been so worried all year about what I’d talk about to Miss Maitland,” she said wonderingly to Penny later, as they went toward the tennis court. “It was as easy as anything, once we got started. I almost forgot it was her. I wouldn’t have thought it possible!”

  Marcie interrupted them with an eager inquiry: “Did you ask Miss Maitland about—you know, about giving the show out of doors?”

  “Yes, I did,” said Francie. This had been a much-discussed question among the young artists. The Dream when it was first produced, argued some of the literary students, was an out-of-doors play, or masque, acted among genuine trees under the genuine sky. This being so, it would be wrong to present it between the confining four walls of Hall, they claimed.

  Francie naturally opposed this notion, for two good reasons. It was sure to rain, she said, if they counted on fine weather, and many of the other girls backed her up in that.

  “It always rains on breaking-up days,” they maintained when the fresh-air fiends waved almanacs at them, or cited the statistics of weather experts.

  The other reason was obvious: if the play were to be presented in the oak wood, there would be no scene painting, or at best very little. Thus the work of the art class would be minimized. Opponents of the indoor school of thought were not slow to point this out, and to accuse the eager artists of prejudice.

  “Yes, I did ask Miss Maitland,” said Francie now, flushed with triumph. “She said it was far
too much of a risk to count on an out-of-doors performance of any kind, ever! That is, a performance like this. On breaking-up day they always do P.T. shows outside, she said, and that sort of thing, because that can be called off without too much heartache, or moved indoors whenever you like.”

  “I knew all that, of course,” said Jennifer loftily when Marcie scampered across to report to the other court. “We all know that, except newcomers like Francie. I should have thought even your precious play could be risked, myself. It didn’t rain last year, if you remember.”

  “But we had the play indoors, anyhow,” said Marcie. “We always do.” Jennifer shrugged and turned her attention to the game.

  “If she cared in the least for painting or stage work,” said Wendy during one of the drama-class discussions, “Jennifer would be the keenest of the whole school on this play. As it is, she’s not helpful. In fact, she’s positively obstructive.”

  “I know,” said Penny regretfully. “I’d find it much easier to round up the little girls, the fairies and all that, for rehearsal, if only Jennifer would set the example. As it is, she stirs them up to cut.”

  Francie listened as long as she could without contributing to the conversation. She knew that any criticism she might make of Jennifer would be attributed to the well-known enmity between them. At last, however, she could not resist; she broke in with a surprised exclamation.

  “But if she keeps the little girls away,” she said, “isn’t that sabotage?”

  “Of course it is, Francie,” said Marcie. “That’s just what we’re saying.”

  “But can’t we do something about it?”

  Wendy Hardcastle said, “What do you suggest we do? We can hardly run and wail about it to Miss Maitland. The thing is, Jennifer has a tremendous following with the younger kids. And she’s super with them, I must say; guiding and all that is Jennifer’s thing.”